by Jack Vance
“We are now disposed to the transfer. Let there be no errors! The recovery of the true and original Perciplex, and its delivery to me, has become your responsibility! Many, many indenture points ride on the outcome of your work! So then: to the Seventeenth Aeon!”
15
The pavilion now stood in the blaze of geranium-red sunlight. The sky was clear of clouds and overcast; the air felt warm, dry and carried a smoky-tart odor exhaled by a low-growing black bush. To the west the gleam of the retreating Santune Sea was yet visible, with a village of white cottages among low trees a half-mile away. In other directions the steppe spread away over the horizon.
At a distance of a hundred feet stood a small white cottage, with a massive black shairo tree rising high to each side. On the porch sat Osherl, in the guise of a low-caste vagabond, or lack-wit, with blinking eyes, sandy hair and upper teeth hanging foolishly over a receding chin. Osherl wore a soiled gown of coarse white cloth and a low flap-brimmed hat.
Taking note of Rhialto, Osherl waved a limp-fingered hand. “Ah Rhialto! After so long a vigil, even your face is welcome!”
Rhialto responded in a manner somewhat more cool. He surveyed the cottage. “You seem to have made yourself thoroughly comfortable. I hope that, in your ease, you have not neglected the security of the Perciplex?”
Osherl responded evenly: “My ‘comfort’, as you put it, is primordial, and is basically designed to protect me from night-prowling beasts. I lack both silken couches and attentive subalterns.”
“And the Perciplex?”
Osherl jerked his thumb toward a rusty iron post fifty yards away. “Directly under that post, at some unknown depth, lies the Perciplex.”
Rhialto, surveying the area, noticed racks of empty flagons to the side of the cottage. “Mind you, I intend neither criticism nor scorn, but is it possible that you have taken to drink?”
“And if so, what then?” grumbled Osherl. “The vigil has been long. To vary the tedium, I compound tonics of various flavors which I sell to the villagers.”
“Why did you not start an exploratory tunnel towards the Perciplex?”
“Need I explain? I feared that if I did so and found nothing, I would be forced to endure your reproaches. I decided to take no initiatives.”
“What of, let us say, competing entities?”
“I have not been molested.”
Rhialto’s keen ear detected an almost imperceptible nicety of phrasing. He asked sharply: “Have either Sarsem or Hache-Moncour made their presence known?”
“To no significant degree, if any. They understand the importance of our work, and would not think to interfere.”
“Just so. Might they have sunk a shaft at a distance, let us say, of ten miles, and driven a tunnel so that they came upon the Perciplex in a manner beyond your knowledge?”
“Impossible. I am not easily fooled. I arranged devices to signal all illicit incursions, either temporal, torsional, squalmaceous, or dimensional. The Perciplex is as before.”
“Excellent. You may commence your excavation at once.”
Osherl only made himself more comfortable in his chair. “First things first! This acreage is owned by a certain Um-Foad, resident at the village Az-Khaf, which you see yonder. He must be consulted before a single shovelful of dirt is turned. I suggest that you visit him at his home and make the arrangements. But first! Dress in garments like my own, to avoid ridicule.”
Dressed in accordance with Osherl’s recommendations, Rhialto and Shalukhe sauntered off to Az-Khaf.
They discovered a neat village of stark white houses in gardens of enormous red sun-flowers.
Rhialto made inquiries and the two were directed to a house with windows of blue glass and a roof of blue tile. Standing in the street Rhialto called across the garden, until Um-Foad at last came out upon his porch: a man small and white-haired with a shrewd darting gaze and a fine mustache with sharply upturned points. He called out sharply: “Who calls the name ‘Um-Foad’ and for what purpose? He may or may not be at home.”
“I am Rhialto, a student of antiquities. This is my assistant Shalukhe the Swimmer. Will you come here, or shall we go there, so that we need not shout?”
“Shout as loud as you like. I am only here to listen.”
Rhialto spoke in a quiet voice: “I wish to speak of money.”
Um-Foad came bounding forward, mustache a-bristle. “Speak up, sir! Did you mention money?”
“Perhaps you mis-heard me. We want to dig a hole on your land.”
“For what purpose, and how much will you pay?”
“More to the point: what will you pay us?” demanded Rhialto. “We are enhancing the value of your land.”
Um-Foad laughed scornfully. “So that when I walk out by night, I fall in the hole and break my head? If you dig, you must pay! And you must pay once again for the refill! That is the first stipulation.”
“And the second?”
Um-Foad chuckled wisely and tapped the side of his nose. “Do you take me for a fool? I know full well that valuable objects are buried on my land. If treasure is found, all belongs to me. If you dig, you acquire rights only in the hole.”
“Unreasonable! Is there a third stipulation?”
“There is indeed! The excavation contract must be tendered to my brother Um-Zuic. I will personally act as project supervisor. Further, all payments must be made in gold zikkos of recent mintage.”
Rhialto tried to argue, but Um-Foad proved to be a negotiator of great skill and in every important essential had his way with Rhialto.
As Rhialto and Shalukhe returned to the pavilion, she said: “You are most generous in your dealings, or so it seems to me. Um-Foad is obsessively avaricious.”
Rhialto agreed. “In the presence of money, Um-Foad is like a hunger-maddened shark. Still, why not allow the fellow his hour of pleasure? It is as easy to promise two hundred gold zikkos as a hundred.”
“Rhialto, you are a kindly man!” said Shalukhe.
Um-Foad and his brother Um-Zuic brought a gang of labourers to Osherl’s hut and commenced to dig a hole fifty feet in diameter at the spot designated by Osherl. The dirt excavated was sifted through a screen before the attentive scrutiny of Osherl, Rhialto, and Um-Foad.
Inch by inch, foot by foot, the hole sank into the old sea-bed, but not at a rate to suit Rhialto. At last he complained to Um-Foad: “What is wrong with the work-force? They saunter here and there; they laugh and gossip at the water-barrel; they stare into space for long periods. That old gaffer yonder, he moves so seldom that twice I have feared for his life.”
Um-Foad made an easy response: “Come now, Rhialto! Do not forever be carping and chiding! These men are being paid handsomely by the hour. They are in no hurry to see the end of so noble an enterprise. As for the old man, he is my uncle Yaa-Yimpe, who suffers severe back pains, and is also deaf. Must he be penalized on this account? Let him enjoy the same perquisites as the others!”
Rhialto shrugged. “As you wish. Our contract encompasses situations of this sort.”
“Eh? How so?”
“I refer to the section: ‘Rhialto at his option may pay all charges on the basis of cubic footage removed from the hole. The amount of said payment shall be determined by the speed at which Rhialto, standing beside a pile of soft dirt with a stout shovel, can transfer ten cubic feet of said dirt to a new pile immediately adjacent.’”
Um-Foad cried out in consternation, and consulted the contract. “I do not remember including any such provision!”
“I added it as an afterthought,” said Rhialto. “Perhaps you failed to notice.”
Um-Foad darted away to exhort the workers. Grudgingly they bent to their shovels, and even old Yaa-Yimpe shifted his position from time to time.
As the hole grew deeper, the soil began to yield articles lost into the ancient sea from passing ships. Each of these items Um-Foad seized upon with quick fingers, then tried to sell them to Rhialto.
“Look now, Rhialto! We ha
ve here a true treasure, this earthenware mug, despite its broken handle! It represents the culmination of a free and unself-conscious art no longer practiced in the crass world of today.”
Rhialto agreed. “A fine piece! It will grace the mantle-piece of your home and bring you hours of pleasure.”
Um-Foad clicked his tongue in vexation. “Then this is not the object you are seeking?”
“Definitely not. Still, put it with the other articles you have salvaged and perhaps someday I will take the lot off your hands.”
“Please, then, define for me exactly what you are seeking!” demanded Um-Foad. “If we knew, we could use a keener eye at the sifting table.”
“And you could also put an exorbitant value upon this object if and when it comes to light.”
Um-Foad showed Rhialto an unpleasantly avaricious grin. “My recourse is clear. I shall set large values on everything discovered.”
Rhialto reflected a moment. “In that case, I too must alter my tactics.”
During the noon-time rest-period, Rhialto addressed the workers. “I am pleased to see that the hole is sinking apace. The object I seek must now be near at hand. I will now describe it, so that all may work alertly, inasmuch as the man who finds this object will earn a bonus of ten golden zikkos in addition to his pay.”
Um-Foad interjected a quick remark. “These gold zikkos, needless to say, are to be paid by Rhialto.”
“Just so,” said Rhialto. “Listen then! Are all attentive?” He glanced around the group and even deaf old Yaa-Yimpe seemed to sense the importance of the occasion. “We are seeking the Sacred Lantern which at one time graced the bow of the Cloud-king’s Pleasure-barge. During a terrible storm, it was dislodged by a dart of blue lightning-ice, and toppled into the sea. So then: to whomever finds the lantern, ten golden zikkos! To whomever finds a fragment, a shatter, or even so much as a small prism of the blue lightning-ice I will pay a bonus of one gold zikko, in true coin; such a fragment will indicate to me that the Sacred Lantern is close at hand. Such a fragment, or shard, or prism, is recognizable by its blue lightning-like color, and must instantly be brought to me for inspection. So now, to work, and with utmost vigilance for the blue lightning-ice, as this will lead us to our goal!”
Um-Foad gave the signal to return to work. “All hands to the shovels; let the work go at double-quick time! Heed well the words of Rhialto!”
A moment later Um-Foad took Rhialto aside. “Since the subject has come up, you may now pay me an instalment of ten gold zikkos against my costs to date, along with another five zikkos in settlement of licensing fees. Let us say twenty gold zikkos in all.”
“Five must suffice.”
Um-Foad at last accepted the coins. “I am puzzled by one of your phrases. You spoke to the workmen of ‘one gold zikko, in true coin’. What, precisely, do you imply by use of the word ‘true’?”
Rhialto made a negligent gesture. “Merely a mode of speaking — a touch of hyperbole, if you will — to express our reverence for such a gold coin.”
“An interesting usage,” said Um-Foad. “Nevertheless, quite clear and commendable … Now then! Who is this odd fellow, who comes sauntering across my property like Pululias, Friend of the Oak Trees?”
Rhialto looked around to where a tall handsome man with chestnut curls and graceful mannerisms stood casually inspecting the excavation. Rhialto said shortly: “I know the gentleman slightly; he has probably come to pay his respects. Hache-Moncour! Are you not far from your usual haunts?”
“Yes, in some degree.” Hache-Moncour turned away from the hole and approached. “The excellent Sarsem mentioned that you were indulging your fancies in these parts and since I had a trifle of other business along the way, I decided to pay my respects. You have dug a fine hole yonder, though I cannot divine its purpose here in this reprehensible landscape.”
Um-Foad retorted sharply: “Rhialto is a famous savant and student of antiquities; this landscape, of which you are making salutary use, is a parcel of my private acreage.”
“You must forgive me my trespass. I envy you a property so notable! Rhialto is indeed a scholar of wide fame … I will be moving along. It has been pleasant chatting with you both.”
Hache-Moncour strolled off behind Osherl’s cottage and disappeared from view.
“A most curious fellow!” declared Um-Foad. “Surely you do not number him among your intimates?”
“An acquaintance, only.”
From behind the shairo trees flanking Osherl’s cottage floated an almost invisible bubble. Rhialto watched with a frown as the bubble drifted over the hole and hung motionless.
“Still,” said Rhialto, “Hache-Moncour is a man of sensitive perceptions and many extraordinary talents.”
“He was notably fast on his feet when I hinted at a fee for his trespass. Yes, what have we here?” This to one of the diggers who had approached with an earthenware bowl. “Rhialto, here is the lantern! I claim your reward.”
Rhialto examined the object. “This is no lantern; it is a child’s porridge bowl, no doubt flung overboard during a tantrum. Notice the quaint scenes depicted in the base of the bowl. Here we have a flantic flying to its lair with a baby gripped in its claws. Here a pouncing langomir devours a somewhat older child, while here, aboard this ship, a small girl is being dragged overboard by a parrot-headed sea-monster. An interesting find, but neither lightning-ice nor lantern.”
Rhialto handed the bowl to Um-Foad, then, glancing casually about, took note that the bubble had drifted directly overhead.
An hour after sunset, with an afterglow the color of persimmon still rimming the sky, Rhialto took Osherl aside. “Who watches from the floating bubble? Is it Sarsem?”
“It is a madling, no more, with an eye illuminating a section of Hache-Moncour’s vision, so that he may watch all that transpires.”
“Catch it in a net and put it into a box, so that Hache-Moncour may enjoy a good night’s rest.”
“As you wish … It is done.”
“And who watches us now, and who listens to us?”
“No one. We are alone.”
“Osherl, I wonder why you persist in your deceptions?”
Osherl spoke in a startled tone: “What is it this time?”
“Today a bowl was brought from the hole. It had been thrown into the Santune Sea an epoch before the Perciplex was lost: so much I infer from the style of the ship and the nature of its rigging, and also from the animal species depicted in the decorations. Therefore, the stratum containing the Perciplex has already been mined. Still I lack the Perciplex! How do you explain this?”
“A curious situation, I readily admit,” said Osherl in hearty tones. “Let us examine the pit.”
“Bring light.”
Osherl and Rhialto went to the excavation and peered over the edge, with their lights illuminating the bottom. Osherl said: “See there?” With a beam of light he indicated an area to the side, near the circumference, which had been dug two feet deeper than the area at the center. “That is the spot where the bowl was found: in a deeper section of the hole. Are you now satisfied?”
“Not yet. If that level predated the Perciplex, and all other levels have yielded nothing, then the Perciplex must now reside in that small hummock of dirt at the very center of the hole.”
“So it would seem.”
“Well then, Osherl, why are you waiting? Descend into the hole, take up shovel and dig, while I hold the light.”
A figure came briskly out of the dusk. “Osherl? Rhialto? Why are you shining lights into my hole? Is this act not in default of our contract? Why, tonight of all nights, do you take these steps?”
“One night is much like another,” said Rhialto. “Do you begrudge us our evening stroll, that we may breathe the cool fresh air?”
“Certainly not! Still, why do you equip yourselves with strong and vibrant lights?”
“Obviously, to avoid stumbling into holes and excavations! Already, as you have noted, the lights have s
erved us well. Careful there, Osherl! Shine your light behind you! That is a thorn-bush into which you were backing.”
“One cannot be too careful,” said Osherl. “Rhialto, have you taken enough of the evening air?”
“Quite enough. Good night, Um-Foad.”
“One moment! I want another instalment paid on your debt.”
“Um-Foad, do you always work to such narrow margins? Here is another five gold zikkos. Be content for a period.”
In the morning Rhialto was early at the sifting box, and scrutinized each load of dirt brought from the hole with special care. Um-Foad, taking note of Rhialto’s attentiveness, became even more officious, often pushing Rhialto aside so that he might be first to inspect the siftings. The workmen, observing Um-Foad’s distraction, relaxed their efforts to such an extent that dirt arrived to the screen at ever longer intervals. Um-Foad at last took note of the situation and, running to the edge of the hole, set matters right. The workers, however, had lost the edge of their zeal. Yaa-Yimpe, complaining both of ague and lumbar spasms, refused to work under what he felt to be Rhialto’s niggardly dispositions. Climbing from the hole, he returned to the village.
Somewhat later, a young man came running out from the village and accosted Rhialto. “Yaa-Yimpe is somewhat deaf; he did not understand that you had offered gold coins in exchange for blue lightning-ice. He now wishes to inform you that he found a fragment of the stuff today. You may entrust the reward to me, his grandson; Yaa-Yimpe is too tired to come out himself, and also he is planning a feast.” The grandson, brisk and eager, with bright round eyes and a toothy grin, extended his hand.
Rhialto spoke crisply. “I must inspect this lightning-ice, to test its quality. Come, take me to Yaa-Yimpe.”
The young man scowled. “He does not wish to be irked with details; give me the gold coins now, as well as my gratuity.”
